Fairy Queens: Books 1-4

by Amber Argyle

  Nelay saw a flash of silver and looked closer at the gate. Fairies. She grabbed a telescope from an Immortal and peered down. These were different from any fairies she had seen before—pale blue and silver, their wings like fine glass with angular, flower patterns trapped beneath.

  Even as she watched, they held out their hands, touching the gate. White spread forth, bearing the same pattern as their wings. One fairy exploded like shattered glass, and Nelay knew she had died and would be taking up a body somewhere else. Nelay also knew why the Clansmen could only attack one or two gates and then had to wait a few days.

  The fairies were dying to bring these gates down, then being reborn somewhere far away and traveling here again. These were the players Nelay had discarded as a lie—the players that changed the game entirely. And she’d had the knowledge all along.

  “The high priestess was right,” Nelay murmured. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  “What are they doing?” Jezzel demanded.

  Nelay backed up and started running. “To the gate! To the gate!” Her throat burned from the smoke, and the bottom half of the palace was lost to the haze. She reached the bottom of the stairs and faced the gate. A spot of ice bloomed across the gate’s surface, the edges like ripped cloth. The gate cracked, loud in the sudden silence.

  Rycus was already there. “More shields,” he cried. “Stronger men in the front, taller in the back with spears.”

  Immortals, soldiers, Redeemed, and priestesses quickly obeyed. Shields were passed down the line, and Rycus shoved Nelay behind him. “You should get back. The front lines are no place for a queen.”

  She grinned as she sheathed her swords and took a spear. “But I was a priestess first.”

  “They’re going to break through,” Rycus cried. “We must hold them!”

  Another loud crack brought Nelay’s head up. The gate was now covered in a thick layer of ice. A cry rose up from the Clansmen beyond. Nelay imagined them gathering up the battering ram, rushing forward.

  The gate shattered, large chunks that splintered into smaller ones on impact. Debris and smoke spewed out, and she ducked behind Rycus’s shield.

  When the gate was gone, she peeked out. The men who’d carried the ram were buried, killed by the falling gate.

  Suddenly Clansmen roared and appeared through the smoke, trampling their newly dead. Rycus braced himself. They clashed in a tidal wave of shields, spears stabbing, axes hacking. Almost immediately, Clansmen broke through. Nelay launched the spear, dropped one, and jerked her swords free of her scabbard.

  Thickening smoke made her cough on every other breath. It wasn’t long before she could no longer see the other soldiers, could only hear their cries rising up all around her. She spun and realized she’d lost Jezzel and her other guards in the chaos and smoke.

  A Clansman approached her through the smoke. Nelay ducked his swing and stabbed underneath his shield with one sword. As he buckled, she kicked him in the back, ducking a blow from another Clansman bearing a war hammer. She sliced his leg even as he brought his shield down toward her.

  All she could do to avoid the blow was drop. So she did, knowing she wouldn’t have a chance to recover before he smashed her with his hammer. She screamed as he swung toward her. But then he stiffened, his eyes bulging. A sword stuck out of his side, buried half the length of the blade. Even as he dropped to his knees, Nelay was scrambling to her feet.

  She turned toward a dark shape, not needing to see his face to know it was Rycus. She wanted to scream at him, for he’d broken the first rule of combat—never throw your weapon.

  Before she could, he lifted his shield to block a blow from a Clansman, caught the crook of the axe on the lip of the shield, and ripped the weapon from the Clansman’s grip. The two soldiers bashed at each other with their shields.

  Nelay yanked his sword out of the dead man’s side. “Rycus,” she called as she threw it toward him. She followed quickly after it.

  He reached out to catch it. The Clansmen took advantage of the distraction, spinning to come up behind his opponent and swinging the edge of his shield toward his head. Rycus half turned, his sword arcing upward toward the man’s ribs. He was too late. The shield connected with Rycus’s neck, and he dropped into a crumpled heap.

  Nelay arrived a few seconds later, swinging her swords and striking the man’s vitals. After kicking his body free of her blades, she stood over Rycus, determined to keep him safe.

  “Jezzel!” she cried. “Hazar! Ahzem!” Nelay coughed, her throat raw and her lungs aching from the smoke. The Clansmen were thinning out as if in retreat.

  Jezzel finally appeared at her side. “They’re seeking shelter from the smoke. We have to go.”

  Nelay collapsed beside Rycus and pressed her ear to his mouth, terrified he was already dead. His breath puffed against her ear. “Help me,” he mumbled.

  The two women wrapped his arms around their necks, lifted him, and rushed for the palace.

  Squinting against the smoke, Nelay stumbled over bodies on her way to the palace. But with all the soldiers trying to get through the doors at once, the retreat came to a standstill.

  Her body heaving on every breath of poisonous smoke, Nelay waited her turn, listening to Nashur’s voice calling out orders through his coughing. She drew a deep breath to shout to him, but the smoke choked her. They weren’t going to make it. “Will the fire keep burning?” she asked the wheezing Jezzel.

  “Nothing can stop it now. Half the city is burning. Even if the flames don’t get them, the smoke will.”

  A coughing fit took over Nelay. She couldn’t get enough air.

  “Bend down,” Jezzel said. “The air is clearer down here.”

  Nelay followed the advice, but her head grew light and her legs gave out. She and Rycus collapsed in a heap.

  Flat on her back, she placed her hand on his chest, relieved to feel his heart beat beneath her palm. She squinted through burning, watering eyes and saw the sun, a red smear above them. Feather-light ash drifted lazily and landed on her skin.

  Jezzel bent down and tried to pull Nelay up, but she was coughing too hard, fighting for breath. Then she too collapsed. All three of them were going to die, buried under ash. But it wasn’t so bad—not if they’d died saving Idara.

  Just as the blackness circled her vision, Nelay felt a cool breeze on her cheek. The smoke churned and the sun grew less red. Nelay took a breath and her lungs didn’t seize in protest.

  She took another breath and another, then pushed up on her elbows. Jezzel had collapsed half on top of her, and Rycus was still unconscious at her side.

  Slowly, the soldiers nearest Nelay began to sit up. Those still trying to cram into the palace turned to the sky.

  Nelay reached down and slapped Jezzel’s cheek, smearing ash. “Jez?”

  She groaned and sat up. “Just burn me now and end this.”

  If she was well enough for sarcasm, she’d be fine, Nelay decided. Bracing herself against Jezzel, she forced her legs under her.

  There was no mistaking it. The wind had changed. But the ovat never changed. “What is this?” she asked.

  Nashur jogged to them “We need to see what’s happening.” He tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the palace wall.

  Nelay planted her feet. “Rycus.”

  Nashur looked down at the still body and drew in a sharp breath, then demanded they find the palace healer and bring her here at once. Then Nashur pulled on her arm again. She shook her head, refusing to leave her husband.

  “You’re a queen first, Nelay,” he reminded her.

  Tears burned her eyes. “Stay with him,” she ordered Jezzel, and for once her friend didn’t argue.

  Nelay followed after Nashur. She stumbled at first, then moved faster as the dizziness passed. By the time she reached the top of the wall, the sky above her was blue, and Nashur was gaping at the cool wind blowing at them from the mountains to the northwest.

  “The wind changed.” Nelay stoo
d beside him, dumbfounded. “It never changes!”

  She stalked to the edge of the wall and saw Clansmen staggering to their feet, coughing and hacking. It wouldn’t be long before they headed straight for the shattered gate.

  “We’re not going to be able to stop them.” Nashur turned to his soldiers and ordered them inside the palace, instructing them to bar the doors after them.

  “The city is still burning,” Nelay said through numb lips. “There’s still a chance this will work.”

  When Nashur didn’t answer, she turned to him. He pointed behind her, his jaw hard.

  She whirled around and her mouth fell open. Rolling toward them at an impossible speed was an entire citadel of clouds, billowing and churning, black with rain.

  The wind gusted, blowing her hair back. Nelay shivered, her body locking up at the bitter feel of it. Within seconds, it had blotted out the sun. She stared above her, at what appeared to be more ash falling from the sky.

  Moving slowly and delicately, the ash danced on the wind until it fell onto her outstretch palm. It was cold and it turned liquid against her skin. “What is this?” her voice came out breathy.

  “Snow,” Nashur said in disbelief. “But it has never snowed in Idara.”

  Nelay felt a flurry of the stuff, like ice against her face, falling harder and faster—the pieces nearly as big as Concon’s fist.

  Sluggishly, she turned to look at the burning buildings closest to her—the snow obscured her view of the outer wall. The fire was sputtering and choking to death on the snow.

  “This isn’t possible,” Nashur finally said. “We won. The invasion was over.”

  Turning her face to the sky, Nelay saw something that sent her heart careening against her chest. On the wind, a poisonous green shimmer shifted and twisted like a lithe snake. She knew from the books what this was. An aurora.

  In the shape of wings.

  “It’s the Winter Queen.” Nelay whirled around to see High Priestess Suka standing there. “She’s come to finish Idara herself.”

  Nelay opened her mouth—to say what, she wasn’t sure. But Suka’s eyes slid past her to their enemy gathering below.

  “Quick,” Suka said and then whirled around, her spotless robes swirling around her. “The palace doors won’t stand long, but the temple walls haven’t been breached.

  Nelay didn’t argue, just sprinted down the stairs and headed toward where Rycus still lay, Jezzel standing guard, the healer bent over him.

  Nashur didn’t hesitate; he simply scooped Rycus into his arms and started running. Nelay and Jezzel ran ahead of him, calling for anyone they passed—mostly priestesses and Immortals—to join them. They bolted across the deserted grounds, dodging the remnants of the Idarans’ campfires and belongings, their sandaled feet leaving dark prints in the snow.

  Nelay was shivering and wet, her feet already numb. “Where are Hazar and Ahzem?”

  “Dead,” Jezzel responded.

  Nelay groaned. As they passed the massive temple gates, the changes inside made her breath catch. Gone were the perfectly oiled guards. The doors between the columns of the public bethel were closed tight. The fountain was shut off, the water at its base gray with soot.

  Still running, Suka half turned. “If the Clansmen get inside, we’re all dead. Hurry, Nelay. There is little time.”

  Nashur draped Rycus over Jezzel’s shoulder. She staggered under the weight but held him. Then he met Nelay’s gaze—there was so much in that simple gaze. Determination and respect and a final goodbye. Then he turned away.

  “Bar the gates and get up the walls!” Nashur started shoving people in the direction he wanted them to go. “You priestesses raid your armory for anything that’s left! Bring us everything we can use! If the Clansmen get through, we’re all dead!”

  Nelay started toward the temple, Jezzel and the healer behind her. Suka and some other priestesses dropped their shoulders to push open the massive doors. Nelay entered the dark sanctuary, coughing violently as the thick smoke from the incense burned her already raw throat. She crossed the floor, melted snow and soot dripping from her face.

  At the center of the public bethel was the empty dais surrounded by the pool. The statues that had been there all of Nelay’s life had been destroyed.

  While the other priestesses headed to the armory, Nelay ran to the living quarters. At the first apartments she came to, she pushed the door open for the healer and Jezzel, who laid Rycus carefully down on the bed.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Nelay asked as she wiped dripping snow off his face. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

  The healer turned her sorrow-filled eyes toward Nelay. “His neck is broken.”

  Inhaling sharply, Nelay stood up to face the woman. “What?”

  “My queen, there’s nothing I can do.”

  Nelay had an overwhelming urge to hit the healer, but a broken voice made her stop. “Nelay?” Rycus called.

  She dropped back to his side. His dark eyes focused on her. She stroked his damp, dirty hair back from his face. “Does it hurt?”

  He coughed a little. “I don’t feel anything.”

  Tears pounded the back of Nelay’s eyes. “Rycus . . .”

  “I heard what she said,” he whispered. Tears spilled from his eyes—Nelay had never seen him cry before. “I can’t—I can’t grip my knives. I can’t do what Scand did.” His gaze shifted to the knives on her baldric. “I need you to do it for me.”

  Nelay reared back. “Never!”

  Rycus choked on a sob. “Please don’t leave me like this, listening while all of you die, helpless to stop them from murdering any of you.”

  “You can save him, Nelay,” Suka said from behind her.

  Nelay’s anger immediately flared, but she strangled it into submission. “She was here—the Goddess of Winter. She saved the Clansmen. And the Goddess of Fire let her.”

  “Are you ready to do whatever it takes?” Suka said simply.

  “Yes.”

  “Then come with me.”

  Nelay turned back to Rycus, who looked at her pleadingly. She hadn’t realized she was crying too until she saw the drops land on his face. “I will come back to you. I’m going to heal you.”

  He looked deep into her eyes. “Hold on to yourself, Nelay. Come back to me.”

  That’s what Zatal had told her—to hold onto love so she wouldn’t lose herself. She bent down and pressed her lips to Rycus’s forehead before she turned to look at the healer and said, “Keep him alive.” Then Nelay darted from the room.

  “Nelay,” Rycus called after her, his voice sounding broken.

  She kept moving, Jezzel falling into place beside her, as they had done since they were children. They crossed through the corridors, through the private bethel, and finally into the outer courtyard.

  Here, Nelay had spent the majority of her childhood. Coming back felt like coming home. But the courtyard covered in snow and ice reminded her that even if they did win this war, her home would never be the same.

  “You are my sister,” she said to Jezzel.

  Jezzel reached out and took hold of Nelay’s hand. “Until the end.”

  “It’s time,” Suka said.

  If Nelay hadn’t been watching, she might have missed the fairy with falcon wings shooting to the sky and disappearing into the snow.

  Suka crossed the training grounds, snow caking on her sandaled feet. “The Balance has shifted. Winter was never meant to visit these lands, never meant to meddle in the affairs of men. Because of that interference, thousands of our men have died. Famines and storms have cost us thousands more. The Balance will struggle to right itself, using whatever tools it can find. You were made to be that tool.”

  Nelay lifted her gaze to meet the older woman’s. “Made?”

  Suka gathered weapons and pressed them into Nelay’s hands. “The elice flower—you alone in all the world have tasted one of its petals.”

  That wasn’t true. There was another. But perhaps the fai
ries didn’t know about Harrow.

  “It is said the Winter Goddess steals the rest for herself,” Suka went on. “It filled you with life, more than just your own.”

  That was why the priestesses were always rounding up those with the Sight. “And if I fail?” Nelay said.

  “Then we all die. Idara will be no more. And the Balance will find another way.”

  A dark cloud caught Nelay’s attention. She blinked in surprise to see an army of fairies approaching, wearing thick bark and animal skins as armor. They bore spears made of sharpened wood sticks, leaves still trembling on them. Without a word to anyone, they took up positions around the perimeter of the courtyard.

  “Why does it have to be me?” Nelay asked. “Why do I have to be the one to kill her?”

  “Because only then will the fairies loyal to Leto fear you.” Siseth emerged from the fairies’ ranks, sporting armor made of glistening scales. Her fangs protruded from her mouth. “Those fairies have already fled before Ilyenna, leaving Leto alone and vulnerable like she has never been before and never will be again. You must strike before she has a chance to counter. It’s the only way you will win.”

  “Why? Why would she abandon us? We loved her,” Nelay said.

  “Because she loves Ilyenna more.” A second fairy had appeared, this one with brown, feathered wings and owl eyes.

  “You—you’re the one I followed all those times.”

  The fairy inclined her head. “I am Orawil. I was there when Leto saved Ilyenna. Both women were betrayed by those they loved. Both were victims to Idara’s schemes, so they decided the world would be better without your people.”

  Nelay’s hurt at the goddess’s betrayal shifted into anger. “How do I kill her?” Nelay gasped as soon as the words left her lips, hardly believing she was seriously considering the fairies’ plan. But every other idea and resource was gone.

  Siseth scraped her needle-sharp claws against one another, the sound making Nelay cringe. “Quickly,” the snake fairy said. “Though she is immortal, she can die the same as any other woman. If she has a chance to draw her power, it’ll be too late.”